The old house at the end of the street had always been empty, or so the neighbors said. When Mara stepped inside, the air felt thick, like it was swallowing her whole. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the cracked walls, and every creak of the floorboards sounded like whispers calling her name.
In the living room stood an ornate mirror, dusty and darkened with age. Mara wiped the grime, expecting her reflection, but froze. Her eyes stared back—hollow, black voids where pupils should have been. And that smile… it wasn’t hers. It stretched wider than humanly possible, full of something cruel and alive.
A cold hand brushed her shoulder. She spun, but the room was empty. When she looked back, the reflection had moved closer, stepping out of the glass as if the mirror itself had swallowed the world behind it.
Mara tried to scream, but no sound came. Her reflection grinned, sharp teeth glinting, and whispered, “Finally… I’ve been waiting.” The mirror went black, then cracked, and Mara’s own smile began to stretch unnaturally, hollow and wide, as if it had a mind of its own.
The neighbors would later say the house was silent again. But sometimes, at night, they swore they saw a smile in the broken glass, watching.
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